


ephemera

by houfukuseisaku



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Not Canon Compliant, because the canon didnt exist yet back then when i wrote this, reposting very very very old fics from a very old blog that i just remembered the password to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-13 04:35:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houfukuseisaku/pseuds/houfukuseisaku
Summary: Extremely non-canon-compliant; these were written before the Judgement of Corruption novel was infomined.





	1. judgement of redemption

**Author's Note:**

> (description taken wholesale from my old archived blog)
> 
> whooo wants gallynem fatherdaughter forgiveness fic?
> 
> *cricket noises*
> 
> no one? really? here it is anyway. based on [that pic edit](http://6000053124710-archive.tumblr.com/post/101472515409) i made
> 
> Fandom: Evillious Chronicles  
> Word Count: a lot, idk. i used notepad for this. if measure in time… half an hour at most? i write slow ahah;;  
> Pairing: GallerianNemesis father-daughter thingy  
> Author: Bun  
> Warnings: hella ooc and inaccurate. strange absence of michells. third-grade level writing uwu
> 
> Title: Judgment of Redemption

At last, the sinner of greed would finally receive his just dues.

The Master of the Hellish Yard grinned as she saw the blue-haired man fall down into the netherworld, fall into a crumpled heap as he landed in front of the gates of death.

Oh, revenge had never tasted so sweet.

Slowly, with her hands reflexively moving to form a gesture she had once used so many times before taking the lives of both the guilty and the innocent, she made her way over to the still-dazed judge, intent on savouring the moment for as long as she could.

**“Gallerian Marlon.”**

The judge in question immediately turned his gaze upwards, his eyes still bleary and unfocused. Rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm, Gallerian blinked a few times before finally returning his attention to the Master standing before him.

**“Even the most atrocious of scoundrels can be spared from the flames of wrath.”**

Her words rang loud and clear through the empty abyss, echoing against nonexistent walls and dissipating in the darkness. With a grand flourish, the Hellish Master threw her arms out and cackled as one of the doors behind her rumbled with noise, interrupted every now and then with the screams and shrieks of the damned. The other gate simply remained silent, its door barred and locked with no visible way to open it.

Gallerian could only tremble in fear as inky-black shadows reached out and grabbed at him, clawing at his unmoving form relentlessly. His eyes looked around wildly as they refused to focus on the menacing figure in front of him.

With exaggerated, drawn-out movements, the Master returned to her previous pose and looked down upon the frightened man, her eyes visibly gleaming under her mask.

**“…For a price, that is.”**

As if startled out of his thoughts, the judge scrambled back, rapidly becoming aware of the irony of the current situation. _A bought salvation…_

His answer to a previous question strikingly similar to the one the Master was asking him suddenly rang out in his thoughts.

* * *

_“Just give up now and return the money to the innocents, and I’ll spare your life!”_

_The masked girl’s hand, even though the rest of her body presented pure, undiluted wrath, was shaking. Trembling with fear and uncertainty._

_The judge could only laugh, back then._

_“My money…”_

_Who was that green-haired girl? The question obstinately nagged him from the back of his mind. She seemed familiar…_

_Though his heart wanted to speak up, the demon’s influence inside him overpowered his thoughts, and the wavering confusion on his face hardened into a wicked smile._

_“I’ll never hand it over to a bitch like you!”_

* * *

**“After all, money makes the world go around. Even in hell.”**

The sharpness and harshness of the Master’s voice jarred Gallerian from his thoughts and returned him to reality. Raising his eyes to meet the Hellish Master’s, he reached out a hand to her and managed to grab onto her seemingly ethereal cloak, gasping as he realized that she wasn’t just an apparition, a hallucination, an illusion of the mind.

She was real, real flesh and bones and skin and _green hair_ –

Her name finally returned to his battered mind, along with memories long forgotten, of a dark-haired woman and a child and golden bullets and a revolver _and a loud bang and **her crying face**_ –

The judge’s actions confused the Master, and she growled and kicked away the fingers that had entangled themselves into the fabric of her cloak. Her eyes narrowed as she sucked in a breath, suddenly impatient.

**“Well? Will you pay, or will you rot in hell for eternity?”**

His answer wasn’t one that she expected, or even one that crossed her mind, or even an answer, actually. It certainly left her temporarily breathless, eyes wide and mouth agape.

_“Ne… Nemesis? Nem, is that you?”_

And her lips immediately curl into a sneer because he had used the name her own mother once called her and she can’t possibly deal with this right now and why _now_ of all times? _Why would he remember her existence now?_

Gallerian’s eyes were glassy as he tried to reach out and grab at something, anything, that could confirm that the girl in front of him was indeed his abandoned child. The child that he had abandoned since her birth and never paid any attention to until the final moments of his life.

_“Nem? Nemesis, please! Answer me!”_

The wind was knocked right out of him as the Hellish Master planted a foot on his chest and kicked, sending him sprawling a distance away, coughing and spluttering as he tried to regain his breath.

**“How dare you! How dare you call me by my name! How dare you notice me only now, when I had craved your attention for so many damned years! How dare you… remember… me…”**

Her voice cracked as she finally let loose all the anger and despair that had built up deep inside her heart. Screaming, she rushed towards the helpless judge and clawed and tore at anything she could get her hands on.

Gallerian, in his guilt, only sat still and allowed the Master to wreak havoc upon his frail form, barely flinching as all the pain and suffering Nemesis held within was unleashed upon him, materializing as scratches, tears and bloody wounds on his clothes, limbs, torso and face.

After a while, the punishment and torture slowly lessened in frequency and severity until the Hellish Master finally stopped altogether, resting her hands on his chest. Her gaze was cast downwards, refusing to meet the judge’s own eyes.

Unsure what to do, Gallerian raised his arms to embrace her in a hug, but, fearing her reaction, froze before he made physical contact. His arms dangled uselessly around her, too scared to move any further, too full of regret to refuse her the human touch he denied her from having all this time.

_“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Nem…”_

The Master, sensing his apprehension, leaned forward and encircled the judge with her own tense embrace, relaxing as Gallerian finally loosened up and returned her hug, rubbing comforting circles on her back.

**“ _‘Sorry’_ won’t change a thing, father. Not the past, not the present, and certainly not the future…”**

Pulling back, they both simply stared at each other for a while, before Gallerian, trembling slightly, raised a shaking hand and attempted to touch her face. Startled, the Hellish Master drew back, making a decision, before relenting and guided the judge’s hand to her mask, the only thing left hiding her face and her true emotions from the world.

**“I… tried to kill myself… when I shot my lover… so, don’t be shocked… okay?”**

Startled by the Master’s confession, Gallerian all but ripped off the mask from her face, eyes watering at the sight of the scar on her temple. Gently tracing it with the tips of his fingers, tears started to fall from his eyes as the judge finally realized _how much_ he had affected and destroyed the Master’s life through his sinful actions.

Nemesis silently watched her father cry, before leaning forward and embracing him in another hug. Feeling the hot, bitter tears seep into the fabric at her shoulder, she closed her eyes and clutched at the judge harder than before, fingers digging into his back. Tears started to drip down her cheeks as well.

How could she punish this man _now_? How could she send him away to suffer in a trial of fire, one she had already carried out on him before? Sinful as he was, Gallerian was still her father, and her desire for his attention and love had finally been fulfilled after so many years.

But no matter how much she wanted to pardon him, Nemesis knew that she had to carry out her task as the Master of the Hellish Yard and condemn the judge to eternal punishment.

The dilemma of her situation finally hit her in all its magnitude and the Master finally let the dam break, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably as she grasped her father’s hands.

As if reading her thoughts, Gallerian tightened his embrace on her and tried his best to dry his tears. His daughter had suffered enough. She didn’t need to see her own father cry.

_“Shh… shh… I’m sorry… it’s alright, it’s okay. I deserve it. I deserve this hell… it’s not your fault, Nem. I was a terrible father… don’t cry, please…”_

Pulling back, Gallerian smiled and pushed the mask into the Master’s hands. Eyes wide, Nemesis took a shaky breath before raising the mask to her face. Her voice quivered, unwilling to carry out the task looming ahead of her.

**“…Well? Will you pay, or will you rot in hell for eternity?”**

Gallerian smiled and closed his eyes.

_“I’ll never give up my riches to the likes of you.”_

Raising herself up, the Hellish Master looked down on the corrupt judge, before quietly laughing and making the same gesture he once did when sentencing innocents to death.

**“As I thought, the scum of the earth can never be saved.”**

Feeling the fires of hell tugging on his soul, Gallerian raised himself up and walked towards the gate leading to his eternal punishment. A final question escaped his lips before he could stop it, though he didn’t wait to hear the Master’s answer.

_“Maybe, one day, this hell will turn into Utopia. If… no, **when** that day comes, will you come and live with me and Michelle again?”_

Turning around, Nemesis watched his retreating back until it was, at last, swallowed up by the flames of wrath, never to be seen again.

**“Oh, sinful man…”**


	2. seven gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (description taken wholesale from my old archived blog. no i dont remember what any of it means)
> 
> [[taking a break from clockwork-wordplay; this was originally a dare from suicchi and meant to be a short, 100-word thing. i don’t know what happened.]]
> 
> the dare: write something depressing but not in your usual despair-style. yeah idk what sui was thinking either.

Before, before everything had happened, before Utopia was achieved, before everything was changed-

_(For the better or the worse, I can’t tell.)_

-the people of Volganio had only believed in four gods.

_(Technically, it should be three, seeing as to how everyone lumped Levia and Behemo together.)_

_(Levia-Behemo. The name leaves a strange taste in my mouth, almost as if…as if the name is dangerous, catastrophic, an invitation for disaster.)_

_(I prefer to keep them separate anyway, as two gods, instead of twin gods.)_

_(Death and judgement. Levia and Behemo.)_

_(Not the monstrosity of miracles and madness that is Levia-Behemo.)_

_(The name leaves a strange taste in my mouth, and, more than anything, I want to get rid of it.)_

But now, now, after everything had happened, after Utopia had been achieved, after everything had changed-

_(For the better or the worse, I still can’t tell.)_

-the people of Volganio now believe in seven.

Seven gods.

And they deem me as half of one of them.

Seven gods. Seven new gods, with the original four almost forgotten completely.

_(Honestly, honestly, I don’t know how to feel about that.)_

On one hand, the immense feeling of pride and vanity that threatens to envelop my heart leaves me cautious and wary.

I don’t want to offend any of the gods that I had-

_(And still do.)_

-believe in.

Especially the one that I considered a close companion.

_(Held. At least, that’s what I think his name was. Honestly, it’s getting more and more difficult to remember…)_

Ah, but he was gone now, right? And his successor…

_(Michaela. What do the people of Volganio think of her? Do they still believe in the Millennial Tree? Or rather, do they even remember its existence?)_

And then there was Sickle, the Master of the Heavenly Yard.

_(The previous Master of the Heavenly Yard.)_

That’s right, the boy, that boy-

_(Which boy? Honestly, I can’t remember his name. or his face, for that matter. Everything that happened before Utopia was achieved seems so distant and blurry…)_

-who gave up everything to keep his sister happy.

Even if it meant becoming evil for her sake.

_(And yet, he had ended up becoming the greatest good Volganio, no, the whole world has and will ever have, and for that, I am thankful.)_

Then, Levia and Behemo. Levia-Behemo.

_(Nothing. I know nothing about them, except that they’re twins and dragons and gods and a disastrous fire and screaming and the lullaby of a broken musicbox and a blade shoved into my heart-)_

_(It hurts too much to remember, so I don’t. Everything, locked up and kept away deep within my heart, somewhere I won’t be able to easily go to. Somewhere I would never want to go to.)_

Four forgotten gods, replaced by seven beings that I don’t even consider as people worthy enough to worship.

Seven gods.

There was the Gardener. They call him many names. The Duke, the Vessel of Asmodeus, Gammon Octo. The people of Volganio worship him as a god of fertility, love and nature. He is the personification of familial love and chastity.

_(I nearly spat out my tea when I first heard about him, in this new world.)_

Shrines, erected in his honour, are decorated with lavish swathes of purple ribbons and banners. Flowers are given as offerings, to be scattered over the numerous altars that all held a replica of an all too familiar violet sword. The Venom Sword.

_(The people of Volganio really don’t remember anything, do they?)_

Then there was the Master of the Graveyard, accompanied by her two ever-loyal ‘children’… The Graveyard Mistress and her two Servants. The Vampire Girl of Beelzenia. The Vessel of Beelzebub. She is known as the avatar of the plenteous bounty of nature, of wine and food and successful harvests. She guards the living and accompanies the dead on their way to judgement. She is temperance and moderation. Her 'children’ signify loyalty, purity and childish naivete. They are the moon and the stars, a guiding light in the darkness of night.

The cathedrals built by her worshippers is smothered with red, rusty red, scarlet and crimson and blood. Blood Grave, to be exact, offered to a statue of her. The statue that stands tall and proud in the middle of the grand building, holding a wine glass stained with red. The glass is always full of wine, Blood Grave, because she was the one who bore the two 'red fruits’ that brought peace to the world.

_(That… doesn’t really make any sense.)_

_(The Graveyard Mistress was one of those who I considered a friend in those days. I wonder if the new interpretation of Volganio’s people about her will make her laugh, cry, or both.)_

_(And then that interpretation about her 'children’…actually did make me spit out my tea.)_

_(How would the people of Volganio react if they somehow managed to gain the knowledge of how the Graveyard Mistress’s… 'children’… were actually meant to be vessels for Levia-Behemo?)_

The Waiter. The Vessel of Lucifer. The Girl Who Kept Waiting For a Response. The Daughter of Evil. Opinions about her are split in two. There are some who denote her as darkness and demonic and sinful, a girl who took everything from the world and gave nothing in return. She is pride and vanity and hubris and everything one shouldn’t be, in order to be accepted into the Heavenly Yard.

They make idols of her in rags, hang her by the windowsills, keep headless dolls of her to ward off evil.

Truly, they say, she is the Daughter of Evil.

But then there are those who praise her as the Regret Messenger. A girl who woke up from her sinful actions and realized her shortcomings. The girl who embodied and personified humility, equality and balance. She is light, she is the rising sun, she is the archangel who will sound the trumpet that will end the world and awaken the dead.

She is the angel of the sea, they say, and those who throw into the ocean a glass bottle containing a message within will receive a miracle of her very own doing.

_(Waiter would surely be pleased with how much respect they treat her with now, wouldn’t she?)_

_(But then, what would she think of the ones that hate her and despise her?)_

_(Just like that girl, so long ago…)_

And then there is her counterpart, the Irregular. The Fallen. The Boy Who Never Responded. The Servant of Evil. Opinions about him are also split in two. Some hold him high, treat him as they have treated the Master of the Heavenly Yard of before, a bringer of justice and light and truth. He is perfection.

They make idols of him in clothed in riches, golden locks and beautiful blue eyes. They offer him brioche, for that is his favourite snack.

_(Oh, how far from the truth they are…)_

He is the guardian of the Heavenly Yard, they say, and those who are forever upholding justice are eternally blessed by him, for he is justice in a mortal form.

_(Justice, or poison?)_

But then there are those who condemn him as cruel, heartless, merciless. He is but a blade, to be used by his queen. He is but a pawn in his monarch’s war against humanity. He killed for her sake, he sinned for her sake, he became evil for her sake.

He died a shameful death, dressed in the clothes of a despised princess.

If the Waiter is the light, the rising sun, then the Irregular is darkness, the sunset swallowed up by the sea. He is nothing but a fool, a spineless, weak-willed, lowly servant.

Truly, they say, he is the Servant of Evil.

_(I don’t know what to say. Is this how the people of Volganio are going to treat him, after everything he has done for the world?)_

The next one has many legends and stories tied to her name, all different and contradicting each other, because not much is known about her and so everyone believes in their own version of her.

The Master of the Court. The Princess Bearing the Gift of Sleep. The Miniature Garden Girl. The Marigold of the Plateau. The Thief. The First Mother. The Successor.

_(So many stories. I wonder what the Court Mistress will think of them all?)_

Many names, all for one girl. The girl who gave birth to sin. The girl who punishes sinners.

Many names, but they all agree on one thing: she is light, she is dark, she is hope, she is despair, she is judgement and balance and justice and she is the one who waits for them all in death.

She is the one who will grant them their eternal rest, and she will guide them to the gates of Heaven and Hell.

_(Well, at least they got that one right.)_

Idols of her are scattered around places of law and justice, and those who are trialled must swear their oath under the ever-watchful eye of a statue of her, gavel in one hand and a scale in the other.

She is also revered as a goddess of health, and those who study in the medical field look up to her and aspire to be as great as she was, or at least as close as they can be.

The Gear-

_(Or was it just 'Gear’? Not that many people seem to worship him, it seems.)_

-was said to be a god of wealth and well-being of both body and mind. The Guardian of the Clocktower. The First Father. The Faithful Lover. The Courteous Prince. The Judge. Those were his names and his stories-

_(There isn’t as much of him as I expected there to be. Wasn’t he the last sinner, as well as the one who collected all the vessels? Strange indeed.)_

-and that was all the people of Volganio thought of him, apparently. There were no idols erected in his honour, no temples to glorify his significance, nothing.

The only way they showed their worship of him was by simple prayers and offerings of money and gold.

Their reasoning? He was but an insignificant gear in the clockwork of fate. Why should he be revered above the rest?

_(But even insignificant gears are important. Without a part, as a whole, the clockwork would be considered incomplete, wouldn’t it?)_

_(Strange indeed, how such important facts are pushed away in favour of more entertaining stories.)_

_(It is but human nature, after all.)_

And the final god, the deity that they hold high above the rest:

The Lonely Magi, Ma.

_(Honestly, honestly, I don’t know how to feel about that.)_

_(I don’t know any more.)_

_(All that I know is…)_

_(Now that the sins have been cleansed and Utopia has been achieved…)_

_(I can finally rest in peace.)_


	3. hey, i know you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (description taken wholesale from the old blog post)
> 
> prompt: what if elluka wakes up in the heavenly yard to meet the two candidates who have died before her?  
> challenge: 30 minutes, not counting time spent checking the ecwiki for info  
> word count: 1500+  
> accurate to canon?: idek at this point, but probably not.

The first thing Elluka notices when she regains consciousness is how bright it is. Incredibly so, like the sun is only a stone’s throw away from where she is, yet the harsh heat she expects to come with such a peculiar circumstance is practically non-existent. In fact, if anything, she feels much colder than she should be. Cold as ice.

The next thing Elluka realizes is that she’s awake. Alive and breathing.

How? The last thing the blonde remembers is a crying Irina, a bloodstained knife, and pain, so, so much pain. The fight for the right to become the mother of gods still fresh in her mind, Elluka shivers, torn between the feeling of betrayal and pity. Betrayal because she had believed Irina’s seemingly-innocent words, had put so much trust in the harmless-looking girl, only for it all to be taken advantage of in the end.

Pity, because she’s sure that Irina hadn’t meant to, what with the tears the younger girl had shed upon witnessing her sister-in-law collapse to the ground. That the stress and the paranoia caused by the survival game and the temptation of the throne was the one to blame. That the HER syndrome was at fault.

In retrospect, she probably should have cured Irina of it as well as Kiril.

But here she was, alive in some way, in a strange and desolate world with only endless stretches golden rice fields in every direction to keep her company.

Until she hears a familiar voice. Two of them, in fact.

_“Hey, I know you.”_

Elluka turns around to see a sultry smile and icy eyes, two women whom she had just recently became acquainted with. Two women who had just recently died.

_“M— Milky? Ly?”_

The prostitute’s smile grows wider, in stark contrast of the aristocrat’s increasingly sombre expression.

_“Took you quite a while.”_  A voice tinted with amused concern.

_“She killed you too, didn’t she.”_  A statement, not a question.

Elluka blinks, once, twice, before realization and horror dawns on her face, twisting into a myriad of emotions fighting for dominance in her head.

_“Too…? Then, Irina… she really did—“_

Ly nods, flicking a stray strand of hair over her shoulder before crossing her arms over her chest, while Milky brings her palm to her lips to stop a cynical laugh from escaping.

_“You know, Elly~? Ly’s supposed ‘accident’? My sudden ‘heartache’? All. Lies!”_

_“That sister-in-law of yours, she truly is an evil person.”_

Elluka shakes her head, not wanting to believe the words of the two women before her, but not even a minute passes before she feels hot, bitter tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She gags and chokes, unable to keep the bile from rising in her throat, retching and heaving from the nausea caused by the reveal of Irina’s true nature.

For a few agonizing seconds, there is nothing but quiet, the gentle breeze and the sound of muffled sobs. Right before Elluka feels like fully breaking down in her misery, a gentle touch on her shoulder prompts the former priestess to look up and meet the gaze of the aristocrat, her usually cold eyes softened with sympathy.

_“But the past is past, Chirclatia. If our deaths were meant to be, then so be it.”_

The prostitute nods at Ly’s words, reaching for Elluka’s hands and clasping them in her own. The three women share a moment of contemplation, sifting through the conflict fresh in their minds, before Elluka pulls away and sucks in a deep breath.

_“So. Where are we?”_

_“The Heavenly Yard.”_ _“Heaven, of course!”_  Ly and Milky answer in unison, not even batting an eyelid as Elluka recoils in shock. A cheeky grin graces Milky’s lips before she grabs Elluka’s arm and dashes off, dragging the helpless Elluka behind her.

_“W—wa—wait! Ly, are you saying we’re in the afterlife?!”_ Elluka yells, struggling to keep up with the running Milky, whose grin only grows more maniacal at her silly, silly question.

_“Well, we did die after all!”_  The aristocrat’s shout resounds from quite a distance away, having been left far behind by the two.  _“I’ll catch up with you two later, alright?”_

_“Wh—where are we going, Milky?”_  Elluka pants, brushing away the strands of hair whipping against her face.  _“A—an—and what about Ly?”_

_“Somewhere special~!”_  The prostitute responds with a mischievous giggle, not even bothering to look at the woman she’s dragging behind her.  _“And don’t worry, Ly-Ly did say she’ll catch up with us later. Earlier, she told me that she’s got something to do, before you came along!”_

Milky continues to run, with Elluka close behind, until they come across a large lake in the middle of a clearing, quiet and serene. The prostitute pauses to let the former priestess regain her breath, before leading Elluka to the edge of the lake. She bends down to dip a pale hand into the calm waters, watching as the disturbance causes ripples to travel across the blue surface, while Elluka wordlessly observes her, unsure how to break the abrupt silence between them.

_“So, Elluka… how did she kill you?”_  Milky asks in a quiet murmur, startling Elluka.  _“What did Irina do to you?”_

Elluka balks at the sudden intrusive question, practically feeling the air around them drop a few degrees in temperature due to the drastic mood shift. She shuffles around a bit, before taking in a shaky breath and moving to stand beside the kneeling prostitute.

_“She… she told me she was going to step down. Forfeit the competition.”_  Elluka starts, unable to help the bitter tone from seeping into her voice.  _“Told me that Kiril chose me, so she would do the same. And I was grateful, so grateful! I promised her that I would protect her, no matter what.”_  A shudder, and then, the bitterness in her throat replaced by weak resignation, she continues, faster.  _“I really thought… Irina, she was such a sweet, kind girl… Kiril loved her, I loved her, so I just— she stabbed me. In the chest. Right into my heart.”_  Unconsciously, her fingers brush over her chest, a phantom pain still manifesting somewhere in there.

Milky nods, humming a three-beat lullaby as Elluka sits down beside her, the edges of her dress just barely touching the water.

_“Taking advantage of love, huh… sounds just like what Pale did, to Meta. And myself as well, I guess. Jerks. Well, at least I knew I meant nothing to him.”_  The prostitute snorts disdainfully, drawing her knees closer to her chest.

_“Pale? As in, Pale Noël of the Apocalypse?”_

_“Hey, I was his mistress once, you know! Besides, we don’t judge each other in the afterlife, Miss Disgraced-Priestess-of-Lighwatch~!”_  Milky teases, laughing as Elluka splutters incoherently in response, her lips curled into a childish pout.

_“Ahaha… in any case, Irina won. I hope Levianta can handle having a HER as a queen.”_  Milky muses, stretching out her arms and laying down upon the grassy earth.  _“Not to mention the mother of gods.”_

_“I really hope things will turn out alright…”_  Elluka groans, all animosity and hatred towards Irina having melted away after recalling her last moments and reflecting on them.  _“And Kiril, too… I hope he’s okay…”_

_“Hm, that Clockworker artisan? Might wanna look in that there lake, Ellukes. He’s probably preparing for Irina’s coronation or something.”_  Milky drawls, lazily pointing towards the lake’s surface with her pinky.

The lake? Peeking into the still waters, Elluka’s eyes wander aimlessly across the clear surface, searching for something, anything, but all she sees is the reflection of the brilliant blue sky, clouds and all.  _“I don’t see anything…?”_

_“You forgot to tell her about the lullaby, you idiot.”_ Ly’s voice suddenly breaks through the whispering breeze, the aristocrat herself strutting over to the two women and settling down beside Elluka. Reaching an arm around the other blonde’s shoulders, the aristocrat pulls her closer, gazing down into their reflections on the surface of the lake. Milky mumbles a quiet  _“whoops, forgot”_  and joins the other two, staring down into the calm waters.

_“Everyone in the Heavenly Yard can hear it.”_  Ly assures a bewildered Elluka, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, while Milky places a hand on Elluka’s chest, right over her heart.  _“You just have to listen to your heart, and… sing.”_

Puzzling over their esoteric words, the former priestess half-closes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing, unsure of what exactly she’s supposed to be looking for. Or listening to, going by Ly’s and Milky’s advice. Still, a little soul-searching never hurt anyone, right?

**‘Lu… li… la…’**

Huh? Lu li la?

_“Lu, li, la, la, la, la…”_

Elluka’s eyes slowly flutter shut as she attempts to recreate the song she can just barely hear, its three-beat lullaby becoming more and more distinct and clear as her voice grows louder and stronger until the song resounds throughout the entire Heavenly Yard, bringing with it a sense of agitated peace, like the calm before a storm.

_“Is that Kiri— what is he… no! He’s going to—” “Elluka! Elluka, open your eyes! You have to see this!”_

Jolted out of her trance by the frantic voices of the two women accompanying her, the former priestess opens her eyes, just in time to see the lake’s surface reflecting an image—

Of Kiril, throwing Elluka’s lifeless corpse into the out-of-control ark, Sin, followed by an explosion of bright lights and a deafening noise.

_“Kiril! KIRIL!!!”_


	4. don't wait for my return

There is a ghost within the ruins of the once-great kingdom, they say.

She is pale as the moonlight, so deathly pale that only on the darkest nights of the new moon can she be seen. Her eyes are icy blue, enough to strike cold, undiluted fear into the hearts of those unfortunate enough to glimpse her unworldly form. Her robes are white, whiter than the purest of the first snowfalls.

Some say she wears the clothes of one who is ready to embrace death, their rightful place a coffin deep within the confines of the greedy earth, swallowed up and never to set foot again amongst the living.

Some say she wears the clothes of a disgraced priestess, cast from society and the service of gods for bringing misery and sin to those around her, a time-transcending demon.

Some say she wears the clothes of a great magi, a sorceress unrestrained by the ever-present hands of time, free from the chains that bind everyone else to the guillotine blade weighing down upon their souls.

Her lips are red, blood-stained, almost. A half-forgotten lullaby lingers on her lips, unable to set itself free from her memories. Its three-beat melody will haunt any and every person unlucky enough to hear it to the grave, bearing broken vows and empty promises.

A resounding tick, tock reverberates from the black box that she is always seen holding in her hands. A musicbox, tainted by despair and unfulfilled hope.

Tainted by blood. Tainted by sin. Tainted by love.

There is a ghost within the ruins of the once-great kingdom, they say.

Her name, lost to the hands of time, is known only by the forest of a thousand years. Its trees whisper it between their branches, the gentle breeze dancing along their leaves and roots.

Elluka Chirclatia, they say. Saviour of the waking world, guardian of the dying earth.

The one who has guided humanity to perfection. To Utopia.

—–

_To the one I love, and the one I left behind,_   
_To the light of my life, and the friend I betrayed,_   
_To my dearest Kiril and Irina:_

_I’m sorry. Utopia is not yet ready to accept me._

_And… I don’t think I will ever be able to set foot in Utopia, even until the ends of time._

_I am sinful. I am imperfect. I am tainted._

_By blood, by sin, by love._

_Ah, if only I could be reborn once more…_

_I’m sorry. I could not protect the world that you loved so much._

_Until I find a way to restore this dying earth to its former beauty, to cleanse this world of sin, I will not set foot in Utopia._

_Time is meaningless, anyway._

_To my dearest Kiril and Irina, I have only one thing left to say:_

_Goodbye._

_Don’t wait for my return._


	5. regularity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (description taken wholesale from the old blog post)
> 
> the new information is so??? and i’m just so???????
> 
> so here’s some silly au stuff to take your mind off of thing s (what the heckie do you mean irregulallen and rebirthday-len aren’t the same person? don’t touch me)

Green, red, blue, yellow. That’s all he ever saw in the dark, empty room he was held captive in.

Allen sighed, raising his hand to trace the ragged, angry red mark at his neck for the umpteenth time. The chains bound to his wrists, clinking as they followed his movements, served as the only reminder that this all wasn’t just some vivid hallucination and he was just being overworked at the palace under Riliane’s orders.

That, and the constant sound of a bubbling spring from somewhere far above him.

Forest, blood, tears, marigold. At times, the voices would come back to haunt him, torture him with his sins and laugh at his misery. It was painful, before, when Allen had screamed his throat sore, denying everything the voices said, fingers tangled into his messy blond hair.

He hated it, hated how, for the most part, what the voices said were true. He had sinned, for himself and his sister’s sake, and he could only hope that Riliane would find it in her thorn-filled heart to repent,  _repent_ ,  ** _repent_**. Surely the Netsuma girl would guide her along the way?

He had seen her eyes, red as freshly-spilled blood, and even though it was clouded with despair and desolation and bitter,  _bitter **wrath**_ , Allen thought he could see a glimmer of hope and understanding and, most important of all,  _forgiveness_ , deep within the red irises.

He did what he could, that day, and now all he can do is wait.

Emerald, ruby, sapphire, gold.

Now? The voices could talk all they wanted, and he would not give as much as a damn. Time, as meaningless as it seemed now, had passed on so much that the boy had grown dull and embittered to the dark room around him, voices, spring and all.

His eyes grew hazy, and sleep seemed better than anything else the world could offer. With a sigh of resignation, Allen allowed himself to drift off into a fitful slumber, plagued by empty dreams and half-forgotten memories.

Until one day.

**“Yes.”**

Blinking his eyes open, Allen raked his fingers through his now long, messy blond hair before squeezing his eyes shut.

_Why is it so bright?_

**“He is the one who will lead us to Utopia.”**

Dragging himself upright, the boy walked blindly forward, aware of the tick and tock that the now clockwork walls were emitting, screws and gears busily going about their business of keeping something alive.

**“Is… is he really the one?”**

The new voice, timid and yet somehow warm and emotional, especially compared to the voice that had spoken before, shocked Allen with its familiarity.

_Riliane?_  was all he could think.

**“Mm. If what Ma says is true and the black box within me is the same as the one he was imprisoned in, then my precious child… is truly your mortal vessel’s twin brother. Here.”**

A sudden warmth flooded the room, heating up the very core of Allen’s admittedly cold and reserved heart.

**“Can you feel it? His heartbeat?”**

_Oh,_  his thoughts whirled aimlessly around his mind,  _was Riliane’s hand ever this warm?_

He couldn’t remember, so long ago had he supposedly left the mortal plane, but he was very glad for it now. The warm touch was a striking contrast to the cold, clockwork nature of the… room? Black box?

All too suddenly, the warmth turned to heat, and the heat soon became a torturous blaze of agony, as if he were being burnt alive.

_What’s happening?_  his lips moved, but no voice came out.

He was all too aware of the screams, screams that sounded like it belonged to the voices that had spoken of him as a child and a brother. Allen tugged at his chains, tortured by the fact that he could not help whoever was suffering around him.

The flames grew more intense, until at last Allen could stand it no more and collapsed onto the gears that supported his weight, his frail mind and atrophied limbs too fragile to handle the strain of staying awake any longer.

**“Wake up, boy.”**

For the third time, Allen woke up to unfamiliar surroundings and unknown voices calling out to him. Looking up with bleary eyes, the boy saw that the dark box and clockwork walls of before had finally been replaced by white. Pure, untainted white.

**“It is time.”**

_For what?_  Allen wanted to ask, but his fatigued form had no time to react before being pulled out from the room, his chains shattering into a million pieces.

Blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his eyes, the boy gasped.

**“You will be the Punishment for this sinful world, this Hell.”**

Was he seeing double?

**“Hurry, before the world deteriorates even more than it has.”**

_Am I dreaming?_

**“ _Now_ , Irregular.”**

There, in front of his eyes, were two people, each holding out a golden key to him.

One was a man dressed in white, with golden eyes and kind smile.

The other, a girl dressed in black, dark eyes and lips curled into a sneer.

The two swam in and out of his vision, flickering figures that his eyes couldn’t quite see. One moment the girl stood alone, another the man took her place, and still another had them both standing there, waiting.

For him to make his choice.

Allen’s eyes widened at the sudden realization, and his breath stuck in his throat as his hand rose on its own volition, slowly inching forward towards the two golden keys offered before it.

The man and the girl laughed, gentle, mocking, both voices swirling into one as Allen’s eyes gave out, snapping shut.

Taking a deep breath, he felt his fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the key and…


	6. first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (description taken wholesale from the blog post of the blog i submitted this to)
> 
> i was bored and things happen when i’m bored so here i managed to write this up while being distressed over the whole mahou shoujo dress scenario and i’m pretty sure it’s hecka ooc but u kno wat. i don’t care anymore kiriluka is cutest ship and i can’t wait to outer science them again i mean what. also bro3p 5ever

It’s…

It’s been a long, very long time since you’ve ventured out of the forest.

In fact, you’re pretty sure it’s the  _first_  time you’ve ventured out of the forest.

As your bare feet slowly take their first baby steps out into the would, your eyes widen in awe and surprise at all the new things you see.

The sunlight is much warmer out here than in the dark shade of the forest, and the grass is more softer and clean-cut compared to the wild shrubbery of the Millennium Tree’s territory.

Soon, you come across a cobblestone path, the first one you’ve ever encountered, and it feels strange as you take one step, and then another, following the path down to… wherever it goes. Levianta, hopefully.

You don’t know why Held picked you for this task, and you didn’t bother asking anyway, but you have to thank the old man for his decision.

The world outside the forest can be really beautiful, too.

Shaking your head, you turn your thoughts back to your mission: infiltrate Divine Levianta, find out what the petty humans are up to, and report back to Held ASAP. Who knows what the humans might think of when they see your writhing, hissing hair-

“Oh, hello there, miss! Why are you out here so late in the day?”

_Fffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn around to face the human who had addressed you, hoping to hell and back that your snakes remember their training and keep quiet.

“A- ah, I’m sorry! Did I scare you?”

Brown hair, brown eyes, even a brown cloak and brown pants. Wow… or, as Micha and Milli would have put it,  _‘fashion di-sas-ter~!’_.

“…? Are you okay?”

Even so, you can’t help but stare at him, at his kind smile that had turned into an embarrassed grin and finally a puzzled pout, and  _fuck_  you haven’t spoken human language in ages you’ve never needed to anyway Milli and Micha just conversed with you in chitters and twitters and what language was he even using anyway-

“Miss? Maybe… you can’t speak? Or… you don’t speak Leviantan?”

_Leviantan._  You can do that. Yeah, you can speak Leviantan that’s easy your snakes loved speaking in Leviantan too yeah alright you can do this.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly stutter out the words that feel so alien to you, rolling off your forked tongue and twisting through your sharp fangs and somehow managing to escape your scaled lips and-

“N- no, I’m f- fine, just a l- little… thirsty, t- that’s all.”

Mentally breathing a sigh of relief at the way the man’s face immediately brightened up, you couldn’t help but be surprised as he extended his hand to you, his kind smile back and as beautiful as ever.

“That’s a relief, I thought you were mute for a second there! My house is just a little farther down this road; my sister is probably waiting for me with a kettle on the stove, too. Care to join us for tea?”

This human was… really too trusting. And kind. With only the slightest trace of hesitance, you reached for his hand and marveled at just how warm, so warm it was, second only to the brilliant, gentle warmth of his eyes and the only thing you can think is:

_Shit, how do I explain this to the old man later?!_


	7. jinsei reset button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this was submitted to someone else's blog)

Just when Elluka thought she had figured out the key to fixing the timelines in which she had failed to save two entire countries from destruction, everything went wrong yet again.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be abusing that Miracle I bestowed upon you. Not all things can be prevented. Sometimes, you have to accept destiny’s will.”

Clenching her jaw, the magi forced herself to look into the eyes of the one who has given her so much pain and suffering, all because of a wish.

“Maybe you should just give up, dear sister. How many years has it been already? Six trillion something something something, right? It must be boring, repeating the same day over and over and over again.”

“I’m not going to stop until I fix everything!”

“Why? Because of your promise to that stupid tree? For Levia’s sake, Elluka, grow up! Perhaps, if I were to confiscate that Miracle of yours, you would learn your lesson?”

Lips twisted into a snarl, the pink-haired magi fingered the chain around her neck, a cube that glowed with all the colours of the rainbow dangling at the end. The Miracle Irina had given her when she made a wish.

The Life Reset Button, as her sister-in-law had called it.

“Tch, over my dead body, you witch!”

“Ah ah ah, the one who is a witch isn’t me, dear. It’s that bratty princess who managed to destroy a whole country plus her own! And yet, despite all the time in the world in your hands, you’ve never managed to stop her silly antics, haven’t you? Ah, but it goes even further before this, doesn’t it? The Epitome of Gluttony, the Epitome of Sin, the Great Fire Disaster…”

“Shut up! That was your fault!”

“Haha. I would like to agree with that statement of yours, but it was Kirill who ended up destroying Divine Levianta, right? The Ark, the explosion, ah, such a glorious sight! But why am I repeating this to you? Of course you would remember, you lived through the whole thing over and over again, didn’t you?”

“Shut up shut up shut up! I don’t want to hear another word from you!”

The magi screamed, fingers scrabbling to push the button on the glowing cube. She averted her gaze from the other as she felt the hands of time start to pull on her soul, dragging her back, back to the distant past.

“And, with the push of a button splattered with the blood of a million innocents who died and died and kept on dying over and over again, the magi enters yet another timeline in which she will inevitably fail once more. That’s how the story goes, dear sister of mine. That’s how the story will always go.”

The last thing Elluka remembers before blacking out to wake up in the new, as-of-yet untainted timeline is the smiling face of her sister-in-law, gleaming red eyes haunting her wherever and whenever she goes, even until the ends of time.


	8. ephemeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the last of the lost fics that i could find. these were a real blast from the past to reread tbh, especially seeing how my writing and understanding of evichro changed over the years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (description take wholesale from the old blog post)
> 
> word count: 2000+  
> canonicity: nah  
> fandom: Evillious Chronicles // Mothy  
> focus: the Real Elluka™, slight elluka/allen friendship

What if, together with Allen, the real Elluka became Sickle’s disciple as well?

Elluka’s silent voice not reaching as Kiril placed her body in the Ark, Elluka’s cold hands not feeling as a bright light and incredible heat spread throughout the entire kingdom.

Elluka watching over the two strangers taking and sharing her form, learning of their history and not knowing whether to side with the sun god or the wayward twins.

Elluka witnessing her body change owners, her time-transcending existence become the center of rumours and legends and stories passed down for generations to come.

Her name synonymous with immortality, magic, wisdom, beauty, grace,  _disaster_.

 

Elluka’s eyes following Irina’s every move, unsure whether to hate her sister-in-law or pity her miserable existence.

Elluka watching Levia struggle to interact with every human that shares Kiril’s image, saddened and feeling guilty of the fact that Levia is burdened with memories that are not her own.

Elluka listening in on Levia’s and Held’s conversation, learning of the Demons and Vessels of Sin.

Elluka observing Eve’s mind degrading further and further the longer she lived on, through all her lives and deaths.

Elluka smiling as Gumillia and Levia slowly fell for each other, crying as Gumillia cries too, the apprentice hugging the goddess as everything was revealed and the ghost could only act as a bystander.

Elluka watching over Hansel and Gretel as they closed their eyes and breathed out for the last time.

Elluka standing behind Gumina, waiting patiently for the noble’s tears to fall and, with Sickle’s reluctant permission, bringing in a slight breeze that ruffled the petals of the purple roses in the vase next to them.

Elluka cooing and humming a three-beat lullaby to soothe the crying baby in Conchita’s Mansion until her doppelganger arrived and retrieved him from here temporary custody.

Elluka spending her free time tending to Sickle’s fields of golden grass.

Elluka welcoming Allen with a gentle laugh, taking his hands and leading him to the Heavenly Master, opposing Sickle’s decision to confine the innocent boy in the Black Box despite knowing that the sun god only has good intentions in mind, Elluka leaning against the device and spending as much time with the irregularity as she can, unable to converse with him, interact with him, on Sickle’s strict orders, but he  _didn’t_ say that she couldn’t keep him company so there’s that.

Sickle also never said that he couldn’t interact with her in the mortal world, she’s practically dancing on a knife’s edge by then with how many of the sun god’s rules she’s half-breaking but she would not allow another soul to exist in loneliness, not now, not ever.

Elluka secretly accompanying Allen down to the living world, embracing Riliane from behind and shielding Allen from having to watch his sister break down in misery as he held back Clarith and the Demon of Wrath.

Elluka accompanying Allen once more, aiding him in supporting Germaine but torn between cheering and crying as the red cat plushie is slain.

Elluka and Allen becoming fire-forged friends, sharing bits and pieces of their lives during the very short times they can converse with each other in the Third Realm.

Elluka barely being able to hold herself back when Allen, in the Black Box, starts talking to her in desperate moments of loneliness, of Riliane and Lucifenia and his mother and father and asking her so, so many questions but she couldn’t bring herself to answer or even speak because what if? What if Sickle decided that enough is enough, that she had broken one too many rules, that she would be locked away as well? So she doesn’t say a word, voice stuck in her throat as Allen keeps going on and on until his voice at last dies down and he is silent, save for the muffled sobs and anguished screams.

She hoped he understood. She only had good intentions in mind. The tears stained her cheeks anyway.

Elluka watching the events unfold in Toragay, the duel in Merrigod Plateau, the absorption and forced combination of two contradicting souls, Pere Noel, the clown boy that bore a striking similarity to Allen, the singer that perfectly imitated Riliane’s visage, Hansel, Gretel, Behemo, Levia, Gumillia, Irina—

Another explosion, another situation where her voice couldn’t reach, her hands couldn’t feel, another soul lost to loneliness, no, no, no—

Elluka standing defiantly in front of the Black Box when a stranger, someone who had just recently escaped from his prison of her existence, a pitiful effort for what is she against Behemo? What is a lost soul to a god?

Allen doesn’t even look at her.

Allen ran away, and she fell to her knees, the tears falling freely once more. The god ignored her, more interested in everything that he had missed in his slumber, and she ignored him, too engrossed in her feelings of sorrow and guilt and anger and why, why, why?

When the earth god came back, dragging the escaped irregularity behind him, Elluka looked at Allen with cold blue eyes.

His are even icier, glistening with bitter tears.

They part ways, and Elluka only observed as Allen somehow, no doubt the work of the crossdressing god, managed to reincarnate as a human boy. She observed as once again fire scorched the earth, a mother lost her family, a deal with the devil was made, a body changed owners once more, envy.

She observed Len as he punished Kayo the way he himself was punished centuries ago.

The gods have a really weird sense of irony, she mused. That, or a warped sense of justice.

When they met again, the ice wall between them had already melted. Allen, face red from crying, from the memories, from the blood that stained his hands once more, ran into Elluka’s arms with such force that they both fell down onto golden grass. Idly, she combed her fingers through his matted hair as she waited for the shaking to subside, laughing gently at how they shared so many things, eyes, hair colour, evil siblings, dead loved ones, tragic stories, so, so many things.

Allen looked at her strangely, and a blush rose to Elluka’s face as she realized that she had been voicing her stray thoughts out loud.

Their friendship returned stronger than ever, with no more black walls to separate them this time. Elluka saw in him the brother she never had, and she noted that Allen probably saw her as a sister figure, too.

The end of the world came too early for them both.

Elluka begged Sickle to let her accompany Allen on his journey, but no, she was to stay behind and tend to the fields, this is the irregular’s quest alone, so in a final act of defiance she descended one last time, deeper down than she had ever gone before.

Her pale feet touched scorched earth, and Elluka finally felt the warmth that her cold hands could never feel in the past millennium.

And then she met her.

The Hellish Master isn’t as bad as everyone made her out to be, Elluka mused. Still, the silence between them was almost deafening, even more so when the green-haired god? Demon? Intoned a familiar name.

“Elluka?”

She immediately recognized the voice. Gumillia. The one that her doppelganger had fell in love with.

Irony seemed to be following her everywhere, she mused.

Their conversation was brief and tense, and the Hellish Master agreed to let her tag along, so long as she didn’t interfere with her duties.

They travelled through the world built from memories, sharing only a few words as the Hellish Master quickly and efficiently dragged each sinner to hell without mercy. Elluka wondered what had become of the magi’s apprentice she once observed for almost half a millennium.

When they finally arrived at the Dark Star Court, Elluka nearly screamed, only barely shushed by the Hellish Master as they became spectators to a cruel judgement. Elluka quietly trailed behind the Hellish Master as she walked up to the judge’s podium, taking the gavel in hand.

The tears continued to fall down Allen’s face as he cried, begged the corrupted judge to take pity on him, to have mercy, the guillotine blade hanging precariously above his neck. Kayo watched from a few feet away, her stoic face only shifting slightly to express surprise at the uninvited guests—oh, she noticed, but the tailor wasn’t going to be the one to alert Gallerian to their presence, heavens no.

“Silence. The judge and the jury find the defendant guilty, and hereby sentence him to death via guillotine.”

“N- no! P- ple- please, please! Don’t! Nonononononononono—“

Besides, she liked watching the little blonde boy squirm and squeal like a piglet being led to the slaughterhouse. Oh, yes, she was going to enjoy watching Len cry his heart out for mercy that would come anyway, for if her predictions were correct, then surely the Hellish Master would interrupt in three, two, one—

A loud sound echoed through the entire courtroom, the distinctive bang of a gavel.

“United States of Evillious, Dark Star Bureau director, Gallerian Marlon.”

The judge froze, slowly turning to meet the gaze of the cloaked woman standing at the judge’s stand.  _His_  judge’s stand.

“You, contractor of the Demon of Greed, executed any innocent human, so long as money was in the equation… or am I wrong?”

Gallerian shook his head with a smile.

“No, that’s completely correct.”

“Deadly sinner in possession of the Vessel of Greed… it would be fitting if I dragged you down and bound you to hell for all of eternity.”

“Wait. Before that… who are you to say such things? Before you take such an insolent attitude with someone of my status, should you not provide for yourself a name, first?”

The masked woman walked from the judge’s podium and stood in front of the guillotine, obstructing Allen from view. Elluka took the chance and rushed towards the kneeling boy, throwing her arms around his shaking shoulders as she attempted to soothe his frazzled nerves. The Hellish Master looked over her shoulder, nodding once at the two before returning her gaze to the delusional judge.

“I be Master of the Hellish Yard. She who judges the deceased.”

“I see. It is you who decides the ultimate fate of the dead, hm? Whether it be Heaven or Hell, or something else entirely? If so, what brings you to my humble courtroom, Hellish Master?”

Another sound reverberated through the courtroom, followed shortly by a high-pitched voice originating from the witness’s stand making itself known.

“Father, what is the meaning of this nonsense?!”

“M- Michelle?”

The masked woman immediately took advantage of the judge’s lapse of concentration, opening a portal below his feet that swallowed Gallerian Marlon up. She then prepared to take Kayo away before being interrupted by a small blond boy in a clown’s outfit—Lemy, or rather, Hansel, Elluka recalled—jumping up from behind the witness’s stand, clockwork doll in hand.

Elluka paid no notice to the three of them, busying herself with unchaining Allen from the guillotine and hugging the traumatized boy, only picking up bits and pieces of Kayo’s, Hansel’s and the Hellish Master’s conversation before a firm but gentle hand pulled her away from the blond servant.

“Wait, A- Allen!” she called out frantically, unwilling to leave her friend of five hundred years.

“Hush now,” the cloaked woman murmured, covering Elluka’s eyes with one hand as she gestured with the other, another portal opening up underneath the two blond boys and directing them to their next target, “they have their duties, and I have mine. Come along.”

Meekly, Elluka nodded and peeked out from under the Master’s hand, just in time to see Allen waving her goodbye before jumping into the swirling vortex and disappearing, Hansel following shortly after.

“Where are we going?” she managed to whisper, eyes downcast as the masked woman took her hands and started walking. “Where to, now?”

The Master of the Hellish Yard paused, contemplating her next words before turning to face the blonde priestess, on the verge of tears.

“To witness the final end,” she quietly and solemnly announced, gently placing a hand on Elluka’s shoulder, “and aid in the birth of a new beginning.”


	9. significance of a raison d’etre, hers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> au where elluka becomes a vengeful ghost or smth. i dont think ive posted this anywhere yet so here it is in all its unedited glory. fucky tenses because i dont know what i was doing

“I’ll never hand my fortune over to the likes of YOU!”

The blade doesn’t go in as smoothly as she expects, glancing off her spine and embedding itself at such an angle that it feels like it somehow misses all her internal organs as it passes through her chest. She trembles in the younger girl's embrace, jerking back and trying in vain to escape Irina's vice-like grip on her shoulders as her lungs struggle to take in the merest sips of air.

Elluka coughs and splutters, her chest spasming and heaving as Irina pulls out the blade, the action accompanied by the sound of tearing gristle as blood starts to leak into her lung cavity; diseased crimson glints under the moonlight as it slowly bubbles out through the wound in her back and gurgles up from her throat. Even though she had mentally prepared herself for it, the pain still hurts much more than she would’ve liked; a poison that races through her veins and turns her insides to flame.

Struggling to raise her head, Elluka manages to catch a buzzing whisper of Irina’s laughing voice before the dizzy ringing in her ears rises to deafening levels, her vision swimming and fading into black.

But that last image, right as she loses consciousness. It burns itself into the back of her eyes as they flutter shut, awaiting the light at the end of the darkness. That… crying… face…

And then, she breathes.

Elluka blinks, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms. Just a split second ago, she was sorely regretting taking the path of least resistance as Irina quite literally backstabbed her for the right to become MA, but even that lingering thought feels distant in her hazy mind as she reorients herself with her surroundings, the mad buzzing slowly giving way to familiar sights and sounds.

She glances down.

…Oh.

Irina, still there. Laughing, crying, hugging Elluka’s dead body with all of her might, cursing the gods. The knife, still there, now bloodstained but without any of the malice she had seen smothering it before anymore, the silver metal seemingly harmless without a wielder to give it purpose.

Elluka’s body, still there, but dead. Blood still flowing freely, the essence of life reluctantly escaping the confines of the flesh vessel that it had fueled and empowered just moments before, seeping into the greedy soil that swallows it up without hesitation.

Oh.

Raising a hand to her temple in confusion, Elluka stops halfway through the action and stares at her fingers. Or rather, at the nondescript figure of light that she can somehow feel and control as though it is her own limb. But it isn’t, it isn’t flesh and blood and bone, just an amorphous blob of radiant white that, oh, Elluka suddenly realizes, comprised the rest of her body as well, what was once solid and delicate and living turned intangible and hollow.

Oh.

She really is dead, then, and now her spirit is there witnessing Irina crying her heart out in anger and sorrow and misery and where does a soul even go when the body’s no longer there to harbour it? The Hellish Yard? The Heavenly Yard? Some sort of court in the afterlife where they’ll be judged for their sins and sent to the ending they deserve? Nowhere? Just a nonexistence of wandering about in the mortal plane, lost and confused and simply hoping for a cessation of awareness?

And even if there is such a thing, surely there would be some kind of messenger, or escort, or even just another spirit tasked with greeting and guiding the afterlife-newcomers with a “hey, so you’re dead? cool, come this way please” because really now, things can get horribly confusing real fast if there isn’t such a thing.

…Okay. Deep breaths, calm down.

Her thin lips curdles at the edges, a frown on her faceless face and her not-arms folding across her not chest.

The gods must have a really sick sense of humour.

But whatever the case, there’s nothing much she can do about it.

Picking up a rustling noise from the nearby shrubbery, Elluka turns to face the intruder—none other than the Head Scientist of the Research Institute, Seth Twiright. The man approaches Irina with an air that the ex-priestess recognizes as something like satisfaction, no, something else that hits much closer to home.

Elluka blanches when Seth bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile. That expression of twisted pride—was that how she had looked like when she glanced over her shoulder to see Irina brooding by the doorway, obviously upset at how this complete stranger had completely taken over her brother’s world? A face that said “look at me! look at what I’ve done!”, a challenge, a thin veneer of utter disgust and contempt for everyone else.

Something akin to regret wells up from the deepest pits of her heart, but Elluka swallows it down, smothers it with the words “too little, too late” and it’s not like she can do anything but watch, now.

“Congratulations.” The word comes out light and airy, like the scientist hadn’t just witnessed a once-innocent child murder three other women for the sake of becoming the literal mother of gods. “We all now owe our lives to you, once and future queen of the Magic Kingdom Levianta… Irina Clockworker.”

“Don’t call me that, you insolent wretch!” Irina snaps, her eyes blazing with fire as she snatches up the rust-coloured blade and points it at the smugly grinning Seth. “You, like everyone else, will address me as MA and MA only!”

“A little touchy now, aren’t we?” Seth titters, barely concealed laughter shaking his shoulders. “Don’t be such a sourpuss, dear. And don’t forget—” That smile again, though this time there’s a definite edge of fanged mirth to it, Elluka notes. Something much deeper and darker than what the scientist put up as that plain, harmless front, a researcher of the divine and nothing more. “All this? Everything that you have now and will have in the future? All thanks to me.”

Surely, this man could be nothing else but a demon in disguise.

“Just—just go away, Seth.” Irina growls, unable to look the scientist in the eyes. Rising from her knees, she straightens herself up and drops her gaze to the blade in her hands, the piece of shining metal now dulled by blood and sin. “Leave me alone.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty… And don’t worry, my little monarch,” Seth speaks up, suddenly addressing someone other than the clearly distraught girl—in fact, he is looking very pointedly in Elluka’s general direction, the blonde woman notes in alarm. She takes a few careful steps back, now very, very afraid of this strange and terrifying man who can somehow perceive the unseen. “My plan isn’t regicide, no. This? This is so, so much more interesting… And as long as you fulfill your purpose in this world, I won’t interfere.”

And with that, he was gone just as quickly as he arrived. A faint breeze passes through the area, covering the sounds of the rustling greenery with a melancholic sigh that seems to echo Irina’s own strained breathing.

“…I’m sorry.”

Too little, too late, Elluka muses, having watched the whole spectacle unfold in front of her like an unwritten screenplay, and she the only person in the audience. Hovering a few inches off the ground—one of the perks of being what basically amounted to a ghost, she supposes, and definitely much easier than having to walk everywhere, and oops, what a _slothful_ person she is—Elluka floats over in front of the younger girl, maneuvering herself so she can get a better glimpse of Irina’s downcast face.

Blank. Nothing. The redhaired girl’s expression carries no emotion whatsoever, or at least none that Elluka could recognize, only thin lips drawn into a straight line and unfocused eyes gazing into the unknown.

“I… ri… na…?”

Elluka murmurs, her voice coming out without tone or character, jumping unevenly between syllables as though the sounds making up the word had been dragged from a great many places and hastily reassembled. She cringes at it, at the weakness in that voice, she hates it—no, it isn’t her voice, it’s just noise, so it’s okay if that noise continues, it is just buzzing static and it doesn’t have to have anything to do with her.

“I… ri… na…”

The younger woman jumps at the sound of her name, having been jolted out of her reverie, hair whipping wildly around her face as she turns around and sees nothing. “Ha… ha…” Irina chuckles weakly, curling a fist in her hair, the other hand grasping so tightly around the wooden handle of the dagger that her knuckles go white. “What a time to go insane, ha…”

Callously tossing the bloodied blade into the nearby bushes, Irina looks down at the limp heap of limbs and blood at her feet, her mouth twisting into a disgusted sneer. “Well… serves you right, bitch,” she mutters darkly, turning on her heel and sauntering away. “Trying to take away everything from me… you deserved it.”

Elluka sighs as she watches the mage disappear from her line of sight, poking at what was once her own body with what she presumes to be her foot and frowning at how the white blob simply passes through the flesh it comes in contact with. She tries again, reaching for the tangled strands of blonde hair and grunting in disappointment as it too refuses to make contact with her hand, the shadow of radiance merely dissolving as it is thrust into the golden locks.

Intangible and invisible. Elluka doesn’t like the idea of that—unable to affect the physical world in any way. It makes her feel small, insignificant, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It makes her pride cry out in despair.

_But now you can rest as long as you like,_ another part of her argues back. _No more duties, no more responsibilities, no more carrying other people’s hopes and dreams. Only an eternal repose._

She had her whole life planned out in front of her, by others. Become a faithful servant to the gods—something she failed at the moment she was cast out from the Pantheon’s service in disgrace. Become a loving wife to a world-famous artisan—only she never intended to be one, seeing the bespectacled man as nothing more than another stepping stone in her path to glory. Become the Queen of Levianta and birth the Twin Dragon Gods in human form—well, from the looks of things, that dream won’t be coming true any time soon, will it? And frankly, she hates it. Hates the way her life’s story had already been written down and planned out from the very beginning, and how she herself never got a say in anything.

Truthfully, the idea of endless slumber entices her. She is so, so tired of keeping up appearance to satisfy the ideals of those around her, after all. Being brought up as a priestess only worsened that, especially being one with the ability to cure any person of their [HER].

Just because she could perform that miracle doesn’t mean that she was obliged to, right? It had been annoying enough that she had to carry it out on Kiril in order to get closer to the renowned Clockworker, especially when he had been pestering her to do the same to his beloved younger sister—

Wait.

…Irina.

Irina heard her. She must’ve, otherwise she wouldn’t have turned around when Elluka called out her name. The ex-priestess feels a smirk crawling up on her lips, the gears of her mind starting to turn as it formulates a plan for the rest of her nonexistence.

If Irina could hear her, then she must have at least some influence on the mortal plane, right? Even if it was limited to just barely being heard by the magically-inclined… And Seth—the scientist could outright see her, though she didn’t know why she and she doesn’t intend to find out any time soon. Then, it means that she isn’t as insignificant as she’d thought. She can still affect the world, she can still change the outcome of things, she can still, she can—!

She is still a gear in the clockwork of fate.

No matter how small, Elluka’s influence is there—and potentially far-reaching, if she plays her cards right. The woman lets out a laugh—a dizzying, deafening buzz of static and noise that roils and crashes in upon itself in waves of madness and malice, rendered warped and distant and so far-removed from the frail voice that it used to be, from the weak, capricious laughter it once was.

She can still win.

She can still achieve victory against Irina, against Levianta, against Evillious, against the world, against the gods themselves, she can, she will—

She must.

…If only for the sake of whiling away this eternal nonexistence.

Elluka looks down at the body by her feet, regarding it with the same disgusted sneer Irina had worn just moments before. That thing lying dead and forgotten isn’t her anymore; it’s just another casualty of human selfishness and sin, a fragile and useless mortal being, a piece of trash that nobody bothered to clean up.

Turning her gaze away from the now deathly pale corpse, Elluka glances to the skies above, distantly noting the beauty of the full moon and the stars hanging overhead. The full moon… With slow, unsteady movements, she propels herself upwards, furthering the distance between herself and her past—she needs to get away, to never look back. She doesn’t want anything to do with that person lying on the cold, hard ground.

She needs to think. To plan out her moves for the next few decades, or even centuries. She needs time to think, and she needs a long time.

But it’s okay.

She has all the time in the world anyway, now.


End file.
